Someone, who shall remain unnamed, has sent me a pair of squirrel trou... apparently worried that my squirrels might freeze their nuts off. A strange action to take considering this person claims to HATE squirrels...
Needless to say, the squirrels thank you. Now I just have to figure out how to get them on the squirrel. My brother suggested soaking peanuts in whiskey...
Laura's and fish's posts, as well as political discourse, has brought back memories... memories of being a young, single woman in the city... with a very dismal and unreliable paycheck. I believe I was working freelance jobs along with two part-time jobs... but still, paying for medical care was an issue, so I went to one of the Planned Parenthood-inspired places. It was not officially PP, but was basically the same deal. You paid for what you could, and most prices were reasonable.
Even though we were well into the latter half of the 80's, this place was right out of the 70's. Lots of ferns, lots of paneling, lots of Free to Be... You and Me stuff on the walls. I was fine with FTB...YAM, but did not necessarily want it every time I went for a check-up. It got even worse once I had to go a little more often. You see, you could not get your beloved birth control pills if your blood pressure was too high. I am notorious for having low blood pressure, but when in this place, with all of the questions, all of the doubtful looks, mine would shoot sky-high.
"We'll give you a month's worth of birth control pills, but you must come back and prove you're BP is ok!"
Before these visits I would chant... think of dolphins, think of dolphins, think of dolphins...
But when they'd come in to check me out and would ask something that merited a smart-ass answer, with me giving it, and them taking me seriously, my BP would shoot sky high. I knew the drill... take the woman, who may or may not be abused, to a dark room... and let her think of dolphins for 10 minutes. Test again.
Most of the time I could chill, and the Rx was mine.
There was one time though that 3 women came into the room and suggested it was time to get to know my body.
Huh?? I was in my 20's! I knew my body?? What do you mean?? Know my body??
They produced a plastic speculum and a mirror... I kid you not. I scanned the ferns for hidden cameras...
They told me no women truly owns herself until she can examine herself... see the beauty of her cervix. I told them I was fine with a hidden cervix. My cervix was doing what it needed to do and I also trusted the professionals who checked it out...
They took this 'no' as an issue. I was like, "No, you don't get it... I was raised by a very down to earth mother who was nurse and called a spade a spade. Sure, my father might have been a little squeamish about the workings of daughterly parts, but Mom was fully on board with open discussion. I don't have issues... in fact, I'd like to use my parts with the man I love, the man who doesn't beat me, the man who accepts me as I am... while I myself am accepting me as I am... OK?? Take the Pap test and let me be on my way!"
But they insisted... which I felt was incredibly wrong, but hey... I was at peace with my parts, and as I mentioned, wanted to freely use my parts, so I did it. Woo-hoo! Look at my cervix! Woo-hoo! Yay! It looks like... a cervix... Can I go now???
They tried to give me a speculum to take home, but I think I shocked them when I said I preferred the flesh variety. Fortunately, soon after, I got insurance and was able to go to a Dr, who never once suggested I get in touch with my cervix... a Dr who seemed to understand that I was hip to my stuff... but relied on a professional to look up under my chassis.
(Heh... when I go to add a link to type up above, TypePad says, "Insert Link"... See?? These are the kind of thoughts that got me into trouble at the Women's place!)
I also wore mine with a stunning harvest gold jersey knit peasant blouse (50../50 blend), or an equally scary harvest gold, 100% plastic buttondown. No pure cotton back then. Actually, here's the description of the shorts/skirt:
Acrylic knit bonded to acetate tricot! Mmmm, breathable! No wonder it had a zipper! You'd suffocate otherwise!
I wish I had a photo of the shoes... they were brown and were called, "Charlie Brown Shoes". I don't remember why, but I can see them in my mind. I'll have to search the almighty Google to see if they mention those. I don't know if the name was regional or national. My one sister and I both had them.
My time machine info retriever has delivered a photo of Mr. Thundra... circa 1970... It would be selfish of me not to share. :) Sorry for the poor quality. The time machine does not have a working scanner.
I think Thundra missed his calling as one of The Brady Bunch.